


Bus Stop

by renniejoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:04:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renniejoy/pseuds/renniejoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slow burn, happy ending</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bus Stop

**Author's Note:**

> The idea is from an AU list that had meeting at a bus stop, and the Hollies song "Bus Stop."

Molly Hooper dashed out of her flat, sprinting down the block to catch her bus. It wasn't until she was catching her breath at the stop that she noticed the heavy drizzle of rain falling. She groaned when she realized that she had left her umbrella in her flat, still drying out from last night.

Suddenly, the rain wasn't hitting her head. She turned to find Sherlock Holmes standing calmly next to her, holding an umbrella over the two of them. 

"Allow me, Molly."

"Sherlock?"

"You were up late last night, working on your latest research. I'm glad to see that going out for dinner with your fiance and his parents didn't keep you from it. I was in the neighborhood and saw that you weren't here yet, meaning you were running late and likely to forget your brolly. You know how cold Bart's is; wouldn't want you to catch your death of pneumonia."

Molly started to remind him that they both knew that's not how pneumonia worked, but stopped at the hint of a smile on Sherlock's lips.

"Thank you," she said instead, smiling at him in return. 

They stood together in comfortable silence until the bus pulled up and Molly was stepping aboard.

"I'll see you later, yeah?"

Sherlock hummed an affirmative, giving her a small wave of his hand as he walked away.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Molly got off her bus and almost walked into Sherlock Holmes.

"Molly. I need to use your flat. I need a case wall and I can't put it up at Baker Street," he informed her as he pulled her by the elbow towards her home. 

"All right. Sherlock, let go!" She shook him off, but continued walking.

"What's wrong with Baker Street?" she asked.

"Janine," he muttered darkly.

"Mary's maid-of-honor? Why is she there? What's going on?" They had reached her door, and she dug in her bag for her keys.

She unlocked the door and let them inside.

"It's for a case."

"I figured that out when you said 'case wall.' Are you going to tell me anything else? Would you like a cuppa?"

"No. And yes. Just don't believe everything you read in the papers." Sherlock flopped down to sit on Molly's sofa.

"Kitty Riley cured me of that for good two years ago, thanks. Why here?"

"Your flat is safer than any of my other boltholes. For papers and pictures. And you're still pretty much off the radar; none of my enemies should really suspect your importance to me - my work, I mean." 

"Oh." She turned to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

He jumped up to follow her. 

"The bed in the guest room is too small for me stretch out properly, and and the sofa is dreadful. I'll need your room."

"Sherlock...Tom...we're -"

"Yes, yes, just stay at his, then. Surely that won't be a problem? I don't need you here; you're clever, but Toby will do just as well for thinking." 

"Oh. Of course, then," Molly said in a small voice. She startled at the kettle's whistle as it came to a boil.

"Right, I'm off then. Don't bother with the tea." Sherlock turned around and swept out of the room, the flat; a small wave of his hand was the last bit she saw of him.

Molly clutched her cup of tea to her chest and sank onto the same sofa cushion that Sherlock had previously occupied. Trying to figure Sherlock out was exhausting on the best of days, which this had not been. Sleep seemed like the best answer to everything now. When she finished with her tea, she would lie down. 

In the bed she was apparently going to share with Sherlock Holmes.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Molly let out an irritated sigh as she checked her watch again. Her bus was running late.

A man in ridiculously over-sized grey sweatpants, with the hood of his hoodie covering his eyes, approached her.

"Oi, Miss? I heard there was a small crash up the line. You'd best take the tube."

"Oh, thank you!" She said to his retreating back.

The only sign the man gave that he had heard her was a small wave of his hand. That wave seemed familiar to her, as if she'd seen it from someone else. She took a deep breath and decided that she was imagining things. She started walking to the tube. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Molly and Tom Collins, her fiance, were at her bus stop. Tom had a meeting near Bart's. Molly was thinking about Sherlock.

She saw his case wall in her bedroom, growing more intricate every week, but she never saw the man himself. He must have been using her bedroom only while she was away. 

Sometimes she thought that she could smell him on her pillows. She dreamed of a hand waving goodbye.

"Penny for your thoughts, Molls?" Tom asked.

She blinked and answered. "I was just wondering about Sherlock's case. It's too complicated for me; I guess that's why he's the detective, yeah?"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! Do you ever think of anything else, Molly?" Tom hissed.

"Tom!" She gasped.

"I haven't said much, because God knows you think the world of him, but jeez, Molly, he sleeps in your bed! I can't believe even you let him go that far!"

"It's not while I'm home! I am doing a favor for a friend, that's all!"

"Is it really, Molls? You've never been in the same bed at the same time, really?" He was calming down. 

"Really, Tom. I'm with you. And that's where I want to be." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

The bus was just pulling up to the stop; a taxicab right behind it. As passengers disembarked from the bus, Sherlock Holmes exited the taxi. He saw the couple on the pavement and nodded to them.

"Molly. Tom."

Sherlock turned and walked towards Molly's flat, giving a small wave of his hand as he went.

Molly and Tom spent the bus ride in silence; Molly fidgeting and Tom fuming. They did not kiss before they went their separate ways.

\---------------------------------------------------------

Molly stood at the bus stop, replaying a days-old argument in her head. She and Tom had been finishing dinner at the corner bistro when she got a text from Sherlock.

"Oh, Tom, I've got to go. Sherlock needs a hand in the lab again, literally." She smiled. "Dinner was lovely, thank you. I'll come to yours when we're done?"

"Can't he get someone else to play with, Molly? I thought we were going to just have a night for the two of us."

"Come on, Tom. You know how he is. And this is not playing, it's helping keep London safe!"

"Or maybe he's bored. Why is everything an emergency for Sherlock? Would you be so quick to help if it was me who texted you?"

"Of course I would! You don't have emergencies, though. Tom..."

"I can't do this anymore. You go have fun with Sherlock, or more like do his bidding while he ignores you. Don't bother coming over. I don't want to hear about him. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to be married to a woman who jumps at his every whim. I love you, Molly, and I think you love me too, but Sherlock bloody Holmes can go to hell for all I care. If you're going to follow him, you'll have to do it without me. Just mail me my things. Have a nice life." Molly could only stare at Tom's back as he walked away.

She was just gathering up her bag and jacket after paying for the meal when Sherlock texted her again. He didn't need her after all; he had a case from Lestrade. 

She had spent the rest of the evening at home, drinking farewell toasts to the thought of married, settled, life.

"Oi, miss!" The man in the oversized sweatpants and hoodie was back, rousing Molly from her memories as her bus pulled up to the kerb. He waved an acknowledgement of her thanks as he walked away.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

It had been months since the last time Molly's world had been turned inside out because of Sherlock Holmes.

He had gotten high, gotten shot, had his affair with Janine exposed in the tabloids (John had assured her that the stories were false; Molly wasn't convinced that made it any better), escaped from and been readmitted to hospital, and finally been released on his own recognizance, just in time for Christmas. Well, somebody should have happy holidays, even if wasn't going to be her. 

She had visited him often, but only while he was sleeping. The fact that he had not used her flat while she was home made her think that he didn't really want to see her, so she obliged his unstated preferences. 

Sherlock's case wall languished, but she couldn't bring herself to take it down. Some nights she spent hours staring at it, trying to make sense of the web of connections. Every once in a while, she thought that she might understand something, but she never quite remembered it in the morning. 

Christmas week passed in much the usual way for her; she put up a few strands of tinsel, but didn't bother with anything else. Since her father had died, leaving her alone in the world, she hadn't had the heart to decorate much. The one year with Tom, he had pushed for more, but she had put him off, claiming a bad experience with the holiday. In retrospect, it seemed as though Sherlock had come between Molly and Tom while she hadn't even known whether he was alive or dead. 

New Year's Day it all collapsed again. Molly was at Bart's (she didn't have anywhere else to be) preparing for an autopsy, when the telly flickered. 

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?..." 

It was Jim; no, Moriarty. She didn't know how or why she was seeing this, but she knew that the morgue was the safest place for to be until her shift was over. If Moriarty came for her, at least she wouldn't be endangering others. She had a bone saw and knew how to use it.

When Greg Lestrade called, she assured him that she was fine. Sherlock didn't call; she told herself that she didn't expect him to. He was on his way out of the country anyway. She continued her work, bone saw close at hand.

It was a bit of a surprise when Sally Donovan appeared and told Molly that she was to be her bodyguard. 

"It was Holmes's idea. He doesn't want you hurt."

"Oh?" 

"You helped him, now he's helping you. There's hidden depths in everyone, they say. Can't say as I see it, but if anybody could inspire goodness in a person, I reckon it would be you," Sally grinned.

"Thanks, I think." Molly smiled and looked away, hiding her blush. She continued working.

Finally, the end of the day arrived. Molly showered and changed her clothes, slipping a new scalpel into her pocket, while Sally stood watch. They walked out to Molly's regular bus stop.

A black sedan was waiting at the kerb. As the two women approached it, Sherlock Holmes got out.

"Thank you, Donovan. I'll take Molly from here." He smiled and reached for Molly's hand. She looked to Sally, surprised to see her motioning to follow him, mouthing, "Go on, girl."

"Thanks, Sal." Molly did as she was told, letting Sherlock draw her into the sedan.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Molly had a thousand questions, but it seemed that Sherlock was not in the mood to let her ask any of them.

"Yes, I was going away. Not supposed to come back at all, suicide mission, but Moriarty's return is a little bit important, so I got a reprieve. Temporary? Who knows. We'll see. Why Donovan? I trust her as much as I trust anyone at the Yard besides Grant; she's as good as any man and I thought you'd be more comfortable with a woman. Why you? Moriarty or his lieutenants must suspect that you played a vital role in my survival; even the tabloids have hinted as much, which makes you a reasonable target. Yes, I thought Moriarty was dead. The man I met blew his brains out on the roof of St. Bart's. I spent two years chasing down and eliminating what I could of Moriarty's web. I thought I had all the major players, but if I missed someone, it's Mycroft's fault; he brought me back to deal with domestic terrorism, damn him!" A deep breath and he was off again. 

"I couldn't tell you about the latest case; it was Charles Augustus Magnussen, the media mogul. He was blackmailing half the country, including me. I couldn't let him know about you, so I couldn't tell you about him. He wanted Mycroft; it was a long chain of pressure points, but I couldn't let anyone know about you. I don't want anyone to know about you, ever, Molly. I want to keep you safe and protected from any harm. Sally knows, and Gary; they'll help me protect you. Molly, you of all people deserve only the best in life; I can't give you that. I can only hurt you; expose you to dangers that you should never have to see. I wish I could be the man who deserves you, Molly..." He trailed off into incoherence as he grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. "Molly, I ---"

Molly yanked her fingers away from Sherlock's lips and backed herself into the car door with a gasp, eyes wide open. He answered her unspoken question. 

"Sudden? No. I can't remember a moment since we met that I didn't love you, well, infatuation. The first day I saw you, I thought I was finally hallucinating; you were the spitting image of the pirate queen in my favorite storybook. Then Lestrade talked to you and you talked back and I knew you were real and you were beautiful and you were the best damned forensic pathologist I had ever known of. I swore off the drugs then and there - mostly, sorry about that, again - and retreated to my Mind Palace for days. I had to shore up my defenses. Sentiment, love, was my greatest enemy; the anathema of everything I had ever wanted for myself. You kept pushing and I kept pushing back, rude and aloof. I hoped that you would give up, but you never did. And you saved my life; when I fell, when I was shot, when I was on the run and just wanted to curl up and die, I remembered that you loved me and that underneath it all I loved you too. And I came back and you were with Tom and I thought, I hoped, that you could finally be happy with him. Why couldn't you have been happy? I watched you, when I could. But I tried to stay out of your relationship; I didn't want to interfere, I didn't want anyone to know how much I depended on you." 

"I couldn't let Magnussen know about you; I couldn't think about you while I was thinking of him. This past week, I couldn't think of anything but you. I love you, Molly. I can't wish that you feel the same. I want you to be safe and protected from every harm, including the hurt I have caused you and will inevitably cause in the future. But I need to tell you, in the wake of my second resurrection; I can't hide it anymore. Molly, I love you. I love so many people now, but I love you the most. You have always, even when I couldn't admit it, always been the person who matters the most." He gulped. "Ummm, you can talk now."

But the sedan had pulled up to Sherlock's Baker Street front door. 

He pulled her out of the car and up to 221B, where he put the kettle on for tea.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Molly was trying to catch her breath after being pulled up the stairs into Sherlock's flat. Her mind was spinning, his words whirling around, until she caught something. "You watched me? What does that even mean? Were you spying on me, Sherlock? On me and Tom?"

"No. NO! I merely saw you at your bus stop; ridiculous means of transportation. Why don't you take a cab more often? Oh! I mean I made sure that you were safely on your way to Bart's sometimes. Well, a lot of times. Had to be sure you were safe and not late."

"So that man in the hoodie..." Molly had started to put a few things together.

"Was me, yes." He looked at the floor, instead of at her.

"Why? Sherlock, of all things; why were you waiting for me at my bus stop? Why didn't you say something?"

"You were with Tom. I was on a case. Would you have been happy to have known?"

"Well, I suppose not, when you put it that way," she frowned. "But ... since when do you care!?! And the bus is the most cost-efficient way of getting from my home to my work!"

"If you don't mind the company of idiots."

"Sherlock Holmes, if you are calling me an idiot..."

"Molly! Please don't slap me again," He smiled at her incredulous look. "I have always cared about you; from the moment that we met. I thought I said that in the car. Wait, didn't I?"

"Yes, you said that," she let out a heavy sigh. "Don't toy with me; I can't take this anymore. I lost my last chance to be happy, to have a normal life, when Tom left. Now Moriarty is back and you're saying all these lovely impossible things. I don't know what to think anymore."

Sherlock drew himself up to his greatest height, inhaling noisily. "Molly Hooper. I have come to the conclusion after weeks, months, of thought, after years of denial, that the only way to describe my feelings for you is love. Specifically, romantic and sexual love. You have inspired in me ideas that I have never wanted to explore with any other person but you. It would give me great pleasure to share my life, my home, and my body with you. I have never offered all of this to any other person."

"If you are not interested, I will never bother you with these thoughts again. I have spent most of my life repressing these urges; it would be no hardship to continue down that path. But I would always want to have your friendship. You are strong and loyal and beautiful and good. I could never be a person who deserves all of this from you, but I want to try to be. If you are amenable, I would like you, and your silly cat, to move in here, at Baker Street, with me. I do not want anyone, especially Moriarty, to hurt you ever again."

"Live here? Silly cat? You like Toby! Wait, no hardship? No hardship? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have any idea what hardships I have endured for you?" Molly was practically spitting in her sudden rage.

Sherlock flinched away, but Molly was taking her turn now.

"I have loved you for so damn long! But you never gave me any reason to think you could ever possibly return my feelings, so I tried and tried to forget; no, what did you say, repress, that love! I gave you everything you ever asked of me and more! I killed you, Sherlock! I lied to every person I knew for two horrible years! For you! No hardship!?! Well, good for you. But it's not that easy for me." 

While Molly's anger burned out as suddenly as it had appeared, she was glad to see that she had startled him. He always missed something about her, and this time it might have been enough to really open his eyes. She took a deep breath. 

Chuckling from the doorway made her head snap around to see who was standing there.

"Gosh, Sherlock, you sure do know how to woo the pretty ladies, don't you?" Mary Watson laughed. "I had thought that Janine was exaggerating your formality, but I see that she was pretty truthful with me, if not the tabloids. Ha! Before you ask, John's downstairs explaining everything to Mrs. Hudson, so she knows to expect the war party. I'll admit I didn't think you would put the moves on Molly quite so fast," she grinned.

"You ... knew?" Identical words came from two different voices.

"Of course, it's been plain as day on both of your faces for as long as I've known you. Really Molly, Tom? And your protective instinct, Sherlock," Mary looked at Molly. "He didn't even want to tell John about your helping him. I've been thinking about pushing you together for a while now. Oh, but I've interrupted. Please do continue your discussion." She hesitated, obviously wanting to hear what was coming, and left the doorway.

Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like "human nature," leaving Molly an opening to speak again.

So she did, with a huff. "Fine. God help me, Sherlock, I still love you. I don't think I could ever stop. That doesn't mean that this whole idea will work out, but I'm willing to try. But God help you, if this is a joke, or a case, or a, a, a bloody damned experiment! Between the two of us and John, I think we could make your disappearance look like it was all your own damn fault!"

"Well, Mycroft and Lestrade do like you better, they'd probably help," Sherlock smiled while he paused for thought. "In my own defense, aren't all relationships experiments of sorts? ... Ahem, I do know what you mean, and that is not what I want. I have made my offer, but I've not heard an answer."

"I've not actually heard a question," Molly replied.

"Will you be with me, Molly? Here? For as long as this love between us continues; which will probably be as long as we both live, given the balance of probability; it's been so long for both of us. Will you, do you think you could... marry me?"

"Oh, Sherlock, how could I possibly say yes to that yet? I'll live here, and we'll try a relationship, and all that, but marriage is too much. We haven't even ever kissed!"

"We can fix that right now," Sherlock advanced on her. They kissed passionately, tongues tangling and hands grasping clothing and hair, before they broke apart for air.

Molly giggled as she leaned her head back, with Sherlock moving his lips down her neck as he hummed a question. 

She laughed, "So much for the bus stop!"


End file.
